Soul Burn
by Claws and Effect
Summary: Harry Dresden has been dealing with the supernatural for a long time. Every now and then, though, he gets thrown a curveball. This particular curveball's name is Johnny Blaze, and he carries with him a secret that could blow the magical community in Chicago wide open. Now Harry has to determine if Johnny is friend or foe, all while dealing with the usual problems.
1. Chapter 1 - Harry

**Disclaimer: I do not own trademarks or copyrights on any of the characters appearing herein. Harry Dresden and all associated characters and concepts is the intellectual property of Jim Butcher. Ghost Rider and any associated characters is the intellectual property of Marvel Comics.**

 **I am receiving no monetary compensation for this story. It is purely for entertainment purposes.**

 **A/N: This story takes place between** _ **Small Favor**_ **and the short story** _ **The Warrior**_ **(found in the** _ **Side Jobs**_ **anthology).**

 **I will be taking some liberties with the backstory of Ghost Rider to help fit him into the Dresden universe more smoothly. Rest assured he will remain largely the same otherwise.**

 **I may add a few other Marvel characters if I can think of a way to fit them in without altering them too much. Mostly street level characters that don't have any true superpowers.**

 **CHAPTER 1**

Another day at the office.

For most people that's a statement implying boredom or monotony. But for Chicago's only openly practicing wizard it just means that something weird could walk through the door at any moment. And knowing my luck, it would pick the worst possible time. I hadn't spent much time at my office lately between dealing with a new apprentice, White Court vampires, and fallen angels. I had put my apprentice's training on hold for a little while so she could be with her family. Her father Michael Carpenter had been shot with an assault rifle by a fallen angel a few months back. He had survived, but it was a close one and he was never going to be the same man again. He was certainly done with his duties as a Knight of the Cross, a holy warrior who wielded one of three swords: _Amoracchius, Fidelacchius, and Esperacchius._ In layman's terms, the Sword of Love, the Sword of Faith, and the Sword of Hope. And each one had a nail from the Cross embedded in it.

Yeah, _that C_ ross. Subtle, huh?

The fallen angel in question was one of thirty who reside in silver coins called denarius. They seduced mortals into becoming their hosts with promises of power beyond their wildest dreams. And before you ask, yes, they are _those_ thirty pieces of silver. The ones Judas was paid for his betrayal. As a whole the lot of them are known as the Order of the Blackened Denarius, which I thought was far too dignified a name for them. They were also called Denarians for short, which was a little better. I preferred Nicky and the Nickelheads.

I couldn't help feeling responsible for Michael's injuries, since they had happened while he was helping me. No one else blamed me. That's okay, I blamed myself enough for all of them.

I had taken on his daughter Molly as my apprentice after she had broken the Laws of Magic trying to help some friends kick a drug addiction. She'd meant well, but screwing around with people's minds was against one of the seven Laws of Magic that carry a death penalty if any practitioner is caught breaking them. She'd had no idea, but the White Council doesn't accept ignorance as an excuse. To be fair, they had good reason. Once someone broke one of the Laws they usually kept breaking them until they became a full blown warlock. So their reasoning was sound, but that doesn't mean I had to like it.

I'd intervened on her behalf much like my own mentor had done for teenaged me after I'd killed my first mentor with magic in self-defense. Now she was under the Doom of Damocles, a sort of magical probation, just like I had been. If she ever broke any of the Laws again she would be executed with no appeal. Second chances are incredibly rare when the Laws are broken, and third chances simply don't happen. Besides being rather fond of Molly and owing her father big time, I had a personal stake in keeping her on the straight and narrow. As her mentor, if she was executed I'd be on the chopping block right next to her.

No pressure or anything, right?

So I was sitting at my desk going through the pile of mail that had built up since I had last been here, noting with an un-wizardly sigh that my rent was due in a week and I didn't have the cash to pay it. I had no cases to work and my stipend as a Warden of the White Council wasn't due to be paid for another three weeks. Wardens are basically the Council's police force, and it's their job to bring in anyone who has broken one of the Laws. I had the position forced on me, and I was determined not to directly cause the death of an ignorant kid if I could help it. It's depressing how often someone's abilities manifest during times of duress, causing them to break a Law unintentionally. Thou Shalt Not Kill With Magic was by far the most common cause of some poor kid's execution, and it was usually in self-defense like my brush with death had been. Unlike me, though, they don't have anyone in their corner.

I was reaching for the phone to check my answering service when it rang unexpectedly. I would have viewed it as a favorable coincidence if I hadn't been taking a sip of my Coke with the other hand at the time. As it was, the unexpected sound startled me slightly and I inhaled some of the Coke instead of swallowing it. I picked it up while trying in vain to stifle a coughing fit.

"Dresden." I sputtered into the receiver.

"Harry," came the familiar voice of Karrin Murphy "You busy?"

"Just trying to drown myself with caffeine and caramel coloring." I replied "Nothing too exciting."

"O..kaaay" came Murphy's response. I could almost hear her eyebrow raising through the phone "We got one that looks like your department. Nearly dead guy in an alley. It's...pretty odd."

That statement from Murphy was telling. She's been dealing with the weird stuff in Chicago for a long time now as the former head of the Chicago PD's Special Investigations unit. She'd been demoted to Sergeant a few years back after leaving a crime scene to help me rescue Molly from the Winter Court. A lot of people view SI as the place careers go to die, but the veterans in the division know they're one of the last lines of defense between the general public and the supernatural. Hell, before I opened my practice they were the _only_ line. The other cops think they're a joke and a waste of resources. But the other cops also don't deal with vampires and trolls on a daily basis.

"What's weird about it?" I asked, still recovering from inhaling my soda.

Murph just sighed.

"Better come see for yourself." she said "We've got enough scraped together for your normal rate."

I winced a little at that. The division used to have it in the budget to contract me as a consultant on the really weird cases. That ended when the higher ups on the force decided I was a fraud (my appearances on the _Larry Fowler Show_ didn't help matters) and refused to pay for it anymore. Now the SI veterans, the ones who _know_ there are things out there that normal police procedure can't handle, have a pool going to pay my fees when they run across something they don't know what to do about. Since they've seen a lot at this point, I assumed this one was going to be off-the-reservation odd.

"I'll go hourly" I told her "At least until I have an idea what I'm dealing with. I know you guys don't have a lot of cash on hand to pay my fees and I'm not going to charge you a whole day if it only takes a few hours to solve. Where am I going?"

"Thanks, Harry." she replied "I would have had to go out of pocket for part of it. The pool is a little tapped out these days. The rookies don't like putting money in to pay a charlatan to do their jobs for them. Their words, not mine."

She gave me an address on the south side about a half hour away.

"Better step on it, Harry." she said. "I don't know how long I can stall the crime scene investigators."

"Be there as soon as I can." I told her as I shrugged my way into my duster and grabbed my staff from where it was propped against the wall.

Forty eight minutes later I pulled my trusty Beetle into a space between two police cruisers. Chicago traffic sucks in any weather, but late January is especially bad and there was enough snow on the ground to make driving treacherous. I unfolded myself from the driver's seat and stepped out into the bitter cold. The Blue Beetle isn't the most comfortable transportation when you're most of seven feet tall, but it has the advantage of actually running nine days out of ten. It also isn't entirely blue anymore. It had acquired red, green, and white panels over the years. My mechanic Mike was some kind of genius in that regard, and he didn't ask questions. Even when I sent the car in with three foot long claw marks in the hood. Modern vehicles tend to fail spectacularly around wizards, so the more low tech the car the better off we are. Magic and technology mix like Cold Iron and faeries, with similar results. But at least technology isn't deeply offended by it. It just blows up.

When I arrived on the scene the first thing I noticed was the groove melted into the asphalt leading away from the alley the cops were milling around in. It was in the center of a three or four foot wide swath of melted snow. It looked as though something narrow and incredibly hot was dragged or rolled down the street. Strangely, the cops milling around in its vicinity didn't seem to think it was odd in the slightest. Which means they were either oblivious, incompetent, or had already made a note of it. I hoped for Chicago's sake it was the third option.

I spotted Murphy's blonde hair sticking out from under a knit stocking cap near the mouth of the alley. She looked tiny next to her partner Rawlins, who she was talking with in low tones. She was maybe five foot even to his six foot plus. I knew better than to let her stature fool me though. I'd seen her take down thugs three times her size without breaking a sweat. Other people underestimated her all the time though, to my great amusement and their dismay.

"Hey, Murph. What do you have for me?" I asked by way of greeting.

"Black male, early thirties. Alive, but totally unresponsive. No signs of physical trauma" she replied "He's down this way."

Rawlins nodded at me and gestured for me to follow Murphy down the alley.

"Rawlins. Who you gonna call?" I quipped. I'd noticed a while back that he bore an uncanny resemblance to Ernie Hudson, and I gave him him crap about it from time to time.

"You, apparently." he shot back. "At least Dan Aykroyd had a professional vehicle to show up in."

Zing. Okay, he had me there. The Beetle, for all its reliability, doesn't exactly scream "trustworthy professional".

When I got closer to the victim they'd called me about, I glanced around the immediate vicinity and noticed there was no snow within twenty feet or so of where he lay slumped against a building. The ground wasn't even wet, so something had been hot enough to both melt the snow and evaporate the water afterward. But there was no sign of anything actually having been on fire. I also noted that if there was a struggle here, it had been pretty one-sided. The hilt of what looked to have been a large knife lay on the ground beside him, the blade apparently having melted. As Murphy had said, the guy looked to be mostly unharmed. Except for his eyes. I'm no optometrist, but I'm pretty sure eyes that resemble lumps of coal aren't considered normal in anything from this side of the supernatural fence.

"Okay... _that's_ new." I commented absently

"So you haven't seen anything like this before?" Rawlins said from behind me

"Not even close." I responded "I'll have to take a closer look to see what's going on here. Give me some space."

While Murph was shooing the other cops away from me, I was mentally preparing myself to open my Sight. I was almost certain I wasn't going to like what I saw.

For the record, I was right.

When I opened my eyes all I could see was fire. And not just your garden variety fire, either.

Hellfire.

I was familiar with it from having the shadow of a fallen angel in my head for a few years. I'd actually used it myself for a while. The victim was at the center of the fire, and seemed to actually be the source of it. He looked fine on the outside. Okay, mostly fine. But viewing him through my Wizard Sight I could see that his freaking _soul_ wason fire. And it was still burning. Judging by the expression on his face it was even more unpleasant than being physically on fire. His face was locked in a silent scream that told me he was still feeling every bit of the flame that engulfed him without consuming anything.

I added that frozen expression of terror to the long list of things I'd really prefer to forget, but can't. That's the downside to using the Sight. You see things how they really are but you can't ever forget them, no matter how much you want to. Sometimes it's pleasant, but mostly its pretty horrific. I'd seen a lot of horrific. I practically had it trademarked at this point.

"Stars and stones." I breathed. "He's not dead, but I'm looking at his soul right now. And it's on fire."

"His _soul_ is burning?" Murphy asked incredulously.

"Yep. Full on four alarm fire. I've never seen anything like it." I told her, deliberately avoiding any mention of Hellfire. She knew I'd been using it for a while and that I'd stopped. We had come to the unspoken agreement not to talk about it. "It's possible to burn a soul. Against the Laws of Magic, but possible. But keeping it going after the attacker has left? That's a new one. You got any information on this guy, or any witnesses to what went down?"

Murphy consulted a notepad for a moment before answering.

"His name's Calvin Robinson. Age thirty three. Rap sheet a mile long, with a history of violence. Assault, aggravated assault, menacing, and so on." she told me "If it's a violent offense, he's either done it or been accused of doing it. Warrant out for his arrest in connection with a robbery turned homicide a few weeks ago. No physical evidence to speak of, but a witness placed him near the scene. Given his history, it seems likely enough."

"Sounds like he really pissed somebody off."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." Murph deadpanned "What _ever_ would we do without your keen deductive reasoning?"

"Die of boredom?" I suggested and was met with a distinctly un-amused look "Anyone see anything unusual at all? Because I'm betting whoever or whatever did this was pretty damn unusual."

"Well, it was actually called in by the fire department." Murphy replied. "A neighbor thought they saw a fire in the alley and called them to put it out. The crew called it in when they found Mr. Robinson here. The witness also said they heard a motorcycle leaving the area. A loud one. That wouldn't be noteworthy except for the fact that no one in the neighborhood has one. And it was four thirty in the morning. And it's January with six inches of snow on the ground. You'd have to be a pretty hardcore biker to ride in this crap, and a better rider than most to not wreck your bike in the process."

"A motorcycle?" I mused.

Something clicked just then and I walked back to the groove in the asphalt I'd noticed when I first arrived. It looked about the right size and shape, but how the hell could a motorcycle melt asphalt like that?

"Murph." I called "Does this look about right for motorcycle tires?"

Murphy walked up next to me and examined the groove for a moment.

"Yeah, it could be." she said. "But if it is, it would be a custom job. Stock motorcycles don't usually have tires this wide. Are you thinking a motorcycle was hot enough to melt asphalt and somehow kept going? That kind of heat should have melted the tires."

"Sounds crazy, but I think that's exactly what happened. Someone would have noticed if a random person took the time to take a blowtorch to the street. What I'm wondering about is why the melted part is only _leaving_ the scene, with no evidence of a similar one arriving."

"So we're looking for someone who can manipulate magical fire well enough to burn someone's soul without harming them physically, and who rides a motorcycle that melts asphalt and keeps going?" Murphy asked "Can't put that in a report if I want anyone to take it seriously. Can you do anything for the victim? I'm guessing a doctor wouldn't even know where to start."

"You're probably right on that. Honestly, it's probably beyond me, too." I told her "I don't want to take the chance of making things worse if I try to do something without knowing how it was done in the first place. I'll see if I can get Wizard Listens-To-Wind to take a look at him. He's the best healer I know. If he can't help him, no one can."

Murphy grimaced.

"I hate to think this guy is going to suffer like this forever." she said "Even if he is scum, and probably a murderer."

"What happened to innocent until proven guilty?" I asked.

Murph snorted.

"After you do this job for a while you start to get a sense for who's guilty or innocent." she said "We can't convict on a gut instinct, but any cop that's been around a while gets pretty good at predicting how the case is going to go. This guy probably did it, but it's the prosecutor's job to prove it in court. It's our job to make sure he gets the chance to."

"Ah." I said "That's, uh, pretty cynical, Murph."

"Just reality." she shrugged "You can't always tell who the bad guys are, but sometimes it's pretty obvious."

I really couldn't dispute that, so I dropped the subject.

"Go ahead and get this guy to a hospital." I said "I can't do anything for him, and I don't need him here to finish examining the scene."

Murphy just gave me a curt nod and waved the EMTs over.

"You can take him now, guys." she told them "We're done with him."

The EMTs took one look at the guy and shuddered in unison.

"What happened to this guy?" one of them asked

"Not totally sure." Murphy replied "He's alive, but he's not in good shape. Dresden here is going to call a specialist to look at him once he gets to the hospital."

I raised an eyebrow at Murphy.

"Don't EMTs usually stay with a living victim until they're transported?" I asked

Murphy nodded.

"Usually, but since his pulse was still strong and he didn't have any visible injuries they agreed to let you get a look at him before they took him, on the condition that we get out of their way if anything changed. Don't count on that happening again, I called in a favor one of the guys owed me."

I finished up my investigating and walked over to where Murphy was waiting.

"I've got everything I can get from here." I told her. "I'm going to go through my library and see if I can turn up any information on what could have done something like this. It's a pretty distinct M.O., so if anyone has seen it before I should be able to turn up something. I'll also come back later with some resources I don't want the vanillas seeing. I'll send you a bill for two hours for now and figure out the rest after I have a better idea what I'm dealing with."

"Thanks, Harry." Murphy replied "Keep me in the loop on what you find out."

"You got it, Murph." I said "I'll give you a call as soon as I know something."

With that I stuffed myself back into the Blue Beetle for the drive to my apartment slash lab.

When I got to my apartment building, Father Anthony Forthill was waiting for me outside. I started to make a joke about him hanging out in seedy areas but it died on my lips when I saw the worried look in his pale blue eyes. Father Forthill is generally unflappable, so if he looked worried it was probably something serious.

"Padre" I greeted him. "Why do I get the feeling this isn't a social call?"

"Harry" he said, with relief evident in his voice "the Church needs your help and Sanya is unavailable for the moment. Red Court in Prague."

Sanya was the only remaining active Knight of the Cross, and the wielder of _Esperachhius._ He was Russian and built like a pro wrestler. He also happened to be black, which he informed me is incredibly rare in Russia.

"What's up, padre?" I asked him

Forthill sighed and ran his hand through his thinning hair.

"It's the Blackened Denarius the Church had for safekeeping." he answered. "Nine of the fourteen coins we had have been stolen."


	2. Chapter 2 - Harry

Chapter 2

I could feel my jaw trying to submit to gravity at the news Father Forthill had brought me. A single Denarian was bad enough. But nine of them that are probably pissed off at being kept out of the game for a while? That was serious bad news. I hurriedly wedged my door open and gestured for Father Forthill to come inside.

Immediately upon entering my apartment my cat Mister hit me with his customary shoulder check to the shins and darted out the door for his daily prowl. Mouse, my part Tibeten mastiff/part stegosaurus, looked up from his nap at the activity, gave me a _chuff_ , and padded over to sniff at Father Forthill, who absently scratched his ears while I tried not to throw my back out closing the door. I really needed to get that fixed one of these days.

Once I got the fire going and we settled into a pair of mismatched chairs, I gave Forthill a long, level look without meeting his gaze. I was pretty sure a soulgaze wouldn't tell me anything I didn't know about the man, but I was hesitant about letting him see _me_ that way.

"Okay, so they were _stolen?"_ I finally asked with raised eyebrows. "I thought those coins were some of the most closely guarded artifacts the Church possessed."

"They are, Harry." Forthill replied. "We're pretty sure it was one of our own who took them."

"I guess even the clergy is susceptible to corruption." I remarked. "Any idea who it was?"

Forthill sighed and stared at the ground for a moment before answering.

"Alexei Federov." he finally said. "He was my protege, in line for his own congregation over in Gary, Indiana. Sanya knows him. They liked having someone around they can speak their native language with."

Made sense. Not a whole lot of Russian speakers in Chicago. At least not in the circles men of the cloth would travel in.

"Now for the sixty-four thousand dollar question, padre." I said. "Why only nine of them? Why not take all fourteen?"

"We've been wondering the same thing, Harry." he replied. "There's no obvious reason why anyone interested in the coins would leave five of them behind."

"I trust you know which coins were taken?" I asked him

Father Forthill rummaged in his pocket for a moment and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with some names written on it.

"Let's see." he said. "Ah, here it is. The coins taken contain the essences of Graviel, Kuriel, Neviel, Vraniel, Pyleriel, Delend, Astaroth, Molokiel. And Zadkiel. They're all worrisome, but Zadkiel and Vraniel concern me the most. Zadkiel used to be the leader of the Denarians until Nicodemus and Anduriel betrayed him and took over some fifteen hundred years ago. His coin has been in our possession the longest. Nearly a century if I recall correctly. Vraniel was his right hand."

"How did you manage to keep a Nickelhead on ice for that long?" I asked " I would think they'd get back into circulation at some point like they always seem to do."

"That was one of the Church's better ideas over the years." Forthill responded. "We moved the coins every so often to a random secure location with only the transporter knowing for sure where they were going. They were stored at the Vatican for decades until the increased foot traffic from tourists made that too risky."

"Let me guess." I said "Alexei was the transporter this time?"

"Correct." Forthill answered with a pained expression "Alexei was always very interested in the coins. I should have been more vigilant to the possibility that he'd been seduced by their power."

"I know the feeling" I replied sagely. Forthill was one of a handful of people that knew I'd had Lasciel's coin for several years without being corrupted. "While we're on the subject, do you know if any of the fallen that were taken have a thing for lighting people's souls on fire without killing or physically harming them?"

"I'm not sure." the priest answered. "Pyleriel maybe? I know she has a penchant for using fire in general that would be deemed pyromania in a human. A few of the scholars at the Vatican believe she started the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 for her own amusement. Why do you ask?"

I filled him in on the case Murphy had called me about.

"Just wondering if there might be a connection, Father."

"I can do a little digging and see if I can find out more about the nine that were taken." he told me. "I can't overstate the gravity of Zadkiel being loose again. He's stronger than Anduriel, but not nearly as subtle. He also thinks himself too good to engage in a partnership with a mortal. If Zadkiel finds a host he typically burns out most of their personality and essentially hijacks their body. Attempting to redeem his hosts has never been successful, and several Knights have died trying."

I gave a low whistle at that.

"Sounds like a real piece of work." I remarked.

"He is. And Vraniel is almost as bad." Forthill continued "He revels in physical combat and is one of the more formidable of the fallen. He has power enough to not need to engage physically, but seems to enjoy causing pain 'up close and personal'. He is almost always found in Zadkiel's company or very close by. They've been strongly allied, near as we can tell, since the beginning."

"So, what you're saying is," I said "If they're getting the band back together those two will be setting the beat?"

"Very likely." Forthill conceded "Of all of them, Astorath is the least predictable. He doesn't like taking orders from anyone and will only go along with it as long as it directly benefits him in some way."

"I have to ask how it is you know so much about these particular Nickelheads, Padre." I asked

"Working with the Knights leads one to collecting a lot of information on the fallen they are pursuing." he said "It helps a great deal to know the foe's abilities and tendencies."

I had to admit he had a point. I had gone in guns blazing without knowing what I was getting into too many times not to realize that.

"So can you be of assistance, Harry?" Father Forthill inquired.

"I have the sinking feeling your missing Nickelheads and my mysterious Burning-Not-Burning Man are connected in some way." I replied "I'll do what I can to help."

"God bless you, Harry Dresden." Forthill said with a smile "A lot of people in the Church don't trust you, but I have had faith in you ever since the day Michael introduced us."

After I saw Father Forthill out I put my heavy robe on and climbed down to my lab to see if I could dig up some information on my mystery alley assailant.

"Bob!" I said loudly "Wake up you low budget Skeletor, we've got work to do!"

One orange eyelight sparked into being in the skull that housed Bob, the spirit of intellect that served as an information repository for the technologically challenged. Bob was the closest thing to a computer a wizard like me could ever use.

"Really, Harry?" Bob groused "A He-Man reference? That's pretty juvenile, even for you."

I gave him an exaggerated shrug

"What can I say? I'm running low on skull and bones related material."

"Still, you could do better than that." he complained "I'm almost insulted."

"Tell you what," I said "help me with this one and I'll renew your _Penthouse Forums_ subscription."

Bob was immediately alert and chipper.

"What are we waiting for, Harry?" he exclaimed "Let's get to work!"

I chuckled at his predictability and started filling him in on what I had found out

"So," I said "I'm looking for something or someone that burns people's souls without otherwise harming them, radiates intense heat, and possibly rides a motorcycle. Any of that sound familiar at all?"

Bob went silent for a few minutes while he thought. While he pondered the question I started humming the theme from _Jeopardy,_ just because I knew it irritated him.

"Okay" he said after a while "There are a few possibilities, but I don't think you're going to like them."

"Do I ever?" I replied

"Well, no, but you're _really_ not going to like it this time."

"Stop worrying about whether I'll like it and just spill it already." I told him. "This thing has turned one guy's eyes into charcoal already, and I need to stop him before he strikes again."

Bob swiveled his skull around to stare at me with his jaw open.

" _What did you just say?!"_ he nearly shouted at me, which surprised me a bit.

"I said it turned one guy's eyes into charcoal, why?"

"Oh, shit, Harry." Bob stammered "Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. He's back."

" _Who_ is back, Bob?" I pressed "Why are you so worked up?"

I was actually starting to get a little worried myself now. Bob rarely actually swore, and he had just done so four times in the last ten seconds.

Bob was silent for a good thirty seconds and he was actually trembling. I hadn't even realized he _could_ tremble, but he was.

"Harry." he said in a very small voice "The Rider's back."

"Okay, Bob." I said, a little frustrated now. "What the flaming hell is the Rider?!"

I gave him a few more minutes to calm down while I went upstairs to grab a Coke out of my icebox. Yes, an actual icebox. Wizards and technology. I could keep the Maytag man busy for sure.

When I got back downstairs I fixed Bob with a long, level look.

"Okay, Bob." I said in my best wizard-voice "Spill it. Why are you so terrified of this 'Rider'?"

"Because he doesn't need to catch me outside my skull to kill me, Harry." Bob replied in a flat voice.

I was stunned by that. Bob was vulnerable outside his skull to anyone with the right skills and knowledge. Granted, you had to be pretty damn powerful to hurt him, since he knew more about magic than the entire Senior Council combined, but certain beings could destroy him. But inside his skull he was virtually unassailable. His knowledge of magic was enough that he could keep all but the most powerful beings out there from getting at him through all the wards he had set up. Mab could do it if she really wanted to, and maybe the Erlking, but I didn't know of too many others. If this Rider could get at him through all that and actually _kill_ him, that put a whole new spin on things.

"Alright, Bob." I said in my sternest tone "If he's really that tough, I need to know everything you know about him. _NOW._ "

"Okay, okay, okay." Bob said quickly, reminding me a lot of Joe Pesci in Lethal Weapon 2 "I'll tell you what I know, but it's not much."

"Whatever you've got, Bob." I said "I need to know it. This thing is out there...well, not killing people, but he might as well be."

Bob sighed and looked a little glum.

"If you buy it on this one, can you make sure I end up with the sexy blonde, or whatever color her hair is this week?" he asked, looking hopeful.

"No way." I told him flatly. "Molly is not even close to being responsible enough to not use the knowledge you have. The Council already wants to kill her, Morgan especially. Now stop stalling."

Looking crestfallen, Bob started telling me what he knew about the Rider.

"The first sighting was reported just before the Revolutionary War." he started "Something they called a 'fiery demon' appeared and started taking out people who had harmed innocents. He was described as being tall and gaunt with a flaming skull for a head. Since he always appeared on a black horse with flaming hooves, people started calling him the Ghost Rider."

I raised an eyebrow at that, then gestured for Bob to continue

"Always bad guys, he never went after innocent people that I've heard. He appeared all over the colonies over the next fifteen years or so, always the same way. He'd appear at a settlement's gates at dusk and start through the town, burning down anyone who had harmed an innocent. Sometimes they'd die, sometimes not. The theory is the punishment matched the crime. Domestic abuse got you singed but you'd live through it. Murderers always died. And as near as anyone can tell, he was _never_ wrong. If he went after someone, they were guilty. A couple towns tried using him as a sort of trial-by-Rider. When they got word that he'd been sighted nearby anyone who had been accused of a crime was tied up in the town square and left for him to judge guilty or innocent."

"That backfired in one town when he refused to judge a man who everyone in the town had watched kill another man in a brawl. They apparently didn't get the memo that he only punished those who had harmed an _innocent_. The man who was killed was far from innocent.

I held up a hand to interject.

"So, if he punishes people who harm innocents, what makes him so dangerous?" I asked.

"A theory put together by the handful of people who realize he exists, Harry." Bob responded testily "I'm getting to that. Be patient."

"After a while he stopped appearing and most people forgot about him. Until he popped back up in Texas in the 1840's and started all over again. Same methods. Same basic mission. But he was described as looking slightly different. He was shorter this time, and not as gaunt. And the horse was a piebald. But the flaming skull and hooves were the same."

"His next known appearance was just after the Civil War. That time he was dressed as a Union cavalry officer. Same skull and hooves, only this time he had a flaming cavalry sabre too. After that was Arizona around the turn of the century. That time, he looked like a stereotypical cowboy, only more fiery. He used a whip and a revolver that he could apparently infuse with fire and had a thing for avenging men who had been wrongfully lynched. He wasn't seen again until the 1930s. This time he'd switched up the transportation aspect and appeared driving a black Model A. With flaming tires."

Light bulb. I thought back to the grooves I had seen in the asphalt leading away from the alley scene and connected what Bob had just said to it.

"He also wore a brown fedora that somehow didn't burn and a trench coat. And he carried a tommy gun. This time he was only active for about five years before he vanished suddenly. Then he showed up in World War Two in Europe. Flaming skull and all. This time he was wearing a US Army uniform and rode a motorcycle. He was all over the front lines, mostly going after Nazi officers. And I think we both know how guilty _those_ guys were."

"On another note, Kemmler was freaking _terrified_ of him. He forbid me to talk about him and if he got word that he was nearby he'd run like a scalded dog as far away as he could get. I'm guessing necromancy and vengeful demon guys don't mix well."

I smiled at the thought of that evil SOB being afraid of something, though the rational part of me wondered why I was prepared to square off with this thing if someone like Kemmler was afraid enough to run away.

"That time the Rider stayed active through the 50s, but mostly confined to Europe. He could have gone anywhere in Europe, Africa, or Asia during that span. No one is really sure since records of supernatural events in those areas tend to be sporadic and not always reliable."

"I can see that. Locals are usually reluctant to tell those stories to outsiders." I commented.

"The last time he was spotted was in the 1970s. This time he was wearing black motorcycle leathers and riding a black bike. His activities usually kept pace with a carnival that traveled back and forth across the country, suggesting that he was somehow connected to it. Everyone attached to the carnival denied any knowledge of his existence though, so that's just conjecture. After he went quiet that time, he hasn't been seen for nearly forty years. Until now. Probably."

"Want to know the theory that's been pieced together about what he might be?" Bob asked me

I suddenly realized that I had gotten so engrossed in Bob's story that the candles had guttered out. Bob's eyelights illuminated the room enough that I hadn't even noticed

 _"Flickum bickus"_ I muttered irritably. "You couldn't just have told me that part without the Aesop's Fable?"

"Grouchy wizard is grouchy." Bob said. Must be something he picked up on one of his rare outings. "Fine. The theory is, the Rider isn't human."

"Um, duh?" I replied sarcastically. "All that research to figure that out?"

"There's more" Bob said, totally ignoring my sarcasm. "The prevailing theory is that whatever the Rider is, he needs a human host to manifest in the material world. And the amount of time he can be here is dependent on that host's natural life span. Specifically when he can manifest is probably limited in some way as well, otherwise he'd be sighted a lot more often. The Rider himself is probably immortal, but his host isn't. It is very likely that each time he's been sighted in a different form than the previous time, he is probably in a new host body. No one knows the specifics of the Rider/host relationship, like whether it is a symbiotic thing or outright possession. And no one knows exactly what he is capable of, other than that normal weapons don't seem to faze him in the slightest. It's all just theories pieced together out of a handful of sightings. I mean, Harry, this guy is a myth even among the supernatural community. The big players likely know he exists, but he's a faerie tale to the rest." Bob snickered at that last part. "He's the boogeyman's boogeyman."

"You know," I mused "This Rider of yours actually sounds an awful lot like a Denarian."

"I know, boss." Bob responded seriously "but given his history of actively hunting down people who _hurt innocents,_ I'd bet a month's pay that he is aware of them and that they are very much on his shit list."

"You don't get paid, Bob" I noted

"I know!" he said exuberantly "It's a win-win!"

After I'd left Bob to his latest romance novel and gotten myself another Coke, I decided I'd go order a pizza and see if Toot-Toot and the Guard had seen anything. I placed the order at the Pizza Spress nearest the alley the victim had been found in and got my gear ready to go.

Naturally, the phone rang again before I could get out the door. It was Murphy again.

"Dresden," she said "we've got another one. One the same as before. And we've also got a body. Our perp stepped it up this time."

 **A/N: I know. Lots of dialog. I'll get to some action pretty soon, I promise.**

 **Irony: Jim Butcher mentioned that he created Bob to poke fun at the "talking head" trope (a character who only exists to explain things) by making him literally a talking head. I decided I'd sort of do the same in this chapter.**

 **Ghost Rider fans have probably guessed, but I'm setting this around the _Vicious Cycle_ comic run. So, if you think about what was revealed in that run your guess as to why the Rider was quiet for 40-ish years is probably really close. **

**And yes, the Old West Ghost Rider was indeed Carter Slade.**

 **For reference, Ghost Rider is among the most powerful things Harry has ever encountered. There are things in the Dresden-verse that can go toe-to-toe with him and a few that might even win (Mab, Titania, Odin...I mean Vadderung), but it's going to be challenging to write something with his power level NOT just curbstomping everything he comes across.**

 **I'm still getting a handle on writing from Harry's perspective. I'm not used to writing already well-established characters. So if anything is really off or out of character, let me know so I can fix it. Same goes for the other characters in the Dresden-verse.**


	3. Chapter 3 - Johnny

First Interlude

Dusk was approaching near the shore of Lake Michigan. The bitter, blustery wind kept most people inside where it was warm, so no one observed the lone man carefully negotiating the streets on a motorcycle that was decidedly not designed for the six inches of snow on the ground. And if the clouds were any indication there would soon be more. Clad only in gray pants and a leather jacket, the man should have been freezing, but he carried on as though he were riding on a warm summer day. He appeared to be in his mid thirties, but the lines on his face hinted that he had seen more than his fair share of hardship in his life. He let out a grunt of annoyance as his shaggy dark blonde hair, much longer than he preferred it, flopped down into his field of view once again. The man swept his hair out of his face for the hundredth time with the hand not occupied with the bike's throttle and resolved to pull over and see if he could find something in his saddlebags to tie it back with.

 _Johnny Blaze, what the ever loving hell are you doing in Chicago in January?_ he thought to himself _This is no kind of weather to be out in when your only transportation is a freaking motorcycle._

 _ **We are here to avenge the innocent.**_ another voice intruded into his thoughts, causing him to shudder involuntarily, and not from the cold. _**We are here because we are needed.**_

 __ _Yeah, okay, but needed for_ what _?_ Johnny asked the voice sharing his head

 _ **You will discover that when the time comes**_ the voice responded, sounding as though it were tiring of repeating itself.

 _So, you drag me halfway across the country to Chicago in the middle of goddamn winter and all you'll tell me is that I'll know why "when the time comes"?_ A frustrated Johnny demanded of the other voice. _I didn't agree to this!_

 _ **Yes. Yes you did.**_ came the other voice, sounding a bit smug this time. _**You signed the contract, after all.**_

 _You know damn well this isn't what I signed the contract for._ Johnny snarled mentally. _Asshole demon._

 _ **You know that isn't what I am, Johnathan.**_ the voice intoned. _**This was explained to you. Repeatedly. Yet you refuse to believe it.**_

 __ _Bullshit._ Johnny told it. _I know a demon when I see one. And you are a demon._

 _ **Have it your way, child.**_ the voice replied. _**You'll realize your error eventually.**_

 __ _You still haven't told me why we're here_ Johnny said

 _ **Y,,,es I have.**_ the voice replied, and then fell silent.

 _I demand you tell me why we are here!_ Johnny thought. _Answer me!_

"Dammit, Zarathos!" Johnny yelled out loud. "Answer me!"

Suddenly aware that he had just yelled at a being no one could see out loud in the middle of the street, Johnny looked around to see if anyone had noticed his outburst. Satisfied that he wouldn't get locked in a psych ward tonight, he finished tying his hair back and was about to restart his bike when he heard a scream coming from a nearby alley.

Johnny dropped his head to his chest and sighed, wishing he could turn away but knowing the being sharing his body wouldn't let him even if he wanted to.

"Of course it's an alley," he griped "Why is it _always_ an alley?

He got off his bike and pulled a thick silver chain out of the saddlebag he kept it stowed in and hurried toward the alley the scream had originated from. When he reached the alley he saw two men near the end of it fighting to hold a pretty brunette in a waitress uniform down while pawing at her brutally.

"Someone please help me!" She screamed, with the tone of someone who knows no one would be coming.

"Shut up, slut!" the larger of the two men slurred and backhanded her with a meaty _thwack_ sound.

On seeing the young lady being struck, Johnny went from angry to furious in a couple heartbeats time. What's more, the being sharing his body became fully alert but was content to merely watch through Johnny's eyes for the time being. It found this particular mortal both confusing and interesting.

 _ **Maybe there's hope for you yet**_ it said into his mind.

 _Shut up._ Johnny told it as he began to walk toward the two drunks and their victim.

"Hey, jackasses!" he yelled as he got closer to them "I learned in third grade that isn't how you treat a lady."

Noticing Johnny for the first time, the larger of the thugs started to lurch to his feet. Reaching into his jacket he pulled out a wicked looking knife and brandished it at Johnny rather unsteadily.

"Whadya say, asshole?" he slurred, weaving a little as he did. "Hey, Vinnie. Keep that little slut warm while I take care of this chump."

"I said I learned in third grade you aren't supposed to treat girls like that." Johnny said "They aren't toys. But I guess you didn't make it that far."

It took a few moments for the insult to register in the inebriated thug's brain, and when it did he charged at Johnny with a snarl.

"I'ma kill you for that, you little prick!" the thug roared, taking a swipe at Johnny's face with the knife he held. Johnny easily dodged the clumsy slash and slapped him across the face with the end of his chain, enraging him further. After dodging a few more drunken attacks Johnny saw his opening and punched the thug in the jaw with the chain he'd wrapped around his fist while he was evading him. The thug dropped like a toilet seat and Johnny had a chance to see what the other thug had been doing while he was distracted.

"Get the hell off of her you piece of shit!" he yelled, after seeing that the other man had gotten his hand under the girl's uniform.

The smaller thug looked up at the enraged Johnny like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. Johnny noted with approval that his nose was bleeding and he was missing a chunk of his ear.

 _Good for her_ he thought. _She's a fighter._

 _"_ You...you beat up Carl." the thug named Vinnie whimpered in shock "Nobody beats up Carl."

Clearly the thug Johnny had already dispatched was the muscle of this pair, because the smaller, weaselly man barely put up a fight. It was between the seventh punch and the eighth that Johnny felt the sharp pain of a knife entering his shoulder. The larger thug had recovered and attempted to stab him in the back. It was only his extreme inebriation that prevented him from hitting anything vital.

 _ **My turn.**_ Zarathos stated in a tone as cold as the grave, and Johnny felt the familiar heat begin to overcome him.

It only took a few seconds for the transformation to finish. The being that the early colonists had dubbed the Ghost Rider rose to his feet and fixed the drunken thug with an implacable stare. The thug, probably believing it was either a trick or a hallucination stabbed the Rider square in the heart with his knife. And then stared at the hilt in horror as the blade melted into slag.

 **"CARL TOHOLSKI ! YOUR SOUL IS STAINED WITH THE BLOOD OF THE INNOCENT!"** the Rider intoned **"YOU HAVE BEEN JUDGED AND FOUND...** _ **GUILTY!"**_

 __The thug found himself instantly sober, and more terrified than he'd ever been in his life. He'd known that the things he'd done would catch up with him eventually, but never thought they'd come in the form of a six and a half foot tall flaming skeleton. The Rider grabbed him by the throat and lifted him clear off his feet as though he were a kitten.

 **"NOW...LOOK INTO MY EYES!"** the Rider commanded. For a second Carl was confused, wondering how he was supposed to look into the eyes of a skull. The confusion ended quickly when he felt his eyes drawn to the skull's empty sockets entirely against his will.

It started small at first. Pushing Annie Branson down on the playground. Beating up Howard Kilpatrick every day after school. Each memory of an innocent person he'd hurt was accompanied by a stab of pain and he started feeling hotter and hotter. By the time he reached the memories of high school and the kid whose name he couldn't remember that he'd stomped into a coma he was whining and trying to pull away, but between the hypnotic pull of the Rider's eyes and the iron grip on his throat he couldn't move.

Then when he reached the memory of the sixteen year old girl he'd kidnapped, raped, and left for dead his soul burst into flames.

The Rider dropped the twitching husk that used to be Carl Toholski and turned toward his partner Vinnie. The scent of urine would have reached his nostrils if he had any, and Vinnie was pointing a small revolver at him with quivering hands.

"What...what did you do you Carl?!" Vinnie shrieked at him. "What did you DO?!"

 _ **"**_ **I GAVE HIM EXACTLY WHAT HE DESERVED."** the Rider stated flatly. **"ALL THE PAIN HE HAS GIVEN INNOCENTS THROUGHOUT HIS LIFE, I GAVE BACK TO HIM. ALL AT ONCE. AND YOU ARE NEXT."**

All the blood drained from Vinnie's face and he started firing his pistol as fast as his finger would move, to no effect whatsoever. Upon realizing that he could not possibly harm the creature that had done...whatever he had done... to his friend, Vinnie took off running as fast as his skinny legs would carry him.

The Rider just gazed after him for a moment and uncoiled the chain from his shoulder. He whipped the chain in a quick circle and sent it rocketing down the alley after the would-be rapist. By some instinct, Vinnie turned around just in time to see a white hot chain whipping toward him. Then he saw the alley around him spinning crazily. Then he saw nothing at all.

The young girl who had just been rescued stared at the Rider in absolute shock. Both figurative and literal. She'd lived in this city all her life and knew there were some weird things out there that most people pretended didn't exist, but she'd never heard of anything like this.

"Thank you..." she whispered, almost as frightened of her rescuer as she had been of her assailants. "Who are you?"

 **"I WAS GIVEN A NAME MANY YEARS AGO BY PEOPLE LONG SINCE DUST."** the Rider replied. **"THEY CALLED ME...GHOST RIDER. I PROTECT THE INNOCENT, AND IF I CANNOT PROTECT THEM, I AVENGE THEM."**

With those words, the being known as Ghost Rider, who was also Johnny Blaze, exited the alley and climbed on his bike, which immediately burst into flames. Then he disappeared into the night with the growl of his motorcycle trailing behind him.


	4. Chapter 4 - Harry

**A/N: Hey, sorry it's taken so long to update this. I've been crazy busy lately and haven't had time to sit down and write. On the plus side, I've had plenty of time to think about the direction I'm taking this. I'm hoping to get the chance to write a lot more often over the coming months.**

 **Hope you enjoy what I have done so far.**

 **Chapter 3**

The news from Murphy didn't particularly surprise me, but the timing of it did. The sun was barely down, which means either it happened in broad daylight or it was very recent.

"Anything else I need to know about this one, Murph?" I asked her

"Yeah." came her clipped response "There's a witness this time. She says two men assaulted her

and would have raped her, but she was rescued by someone. I'm a little skeptical about her story. I don't think she's telling all of it."

"If it's the same guy I think it is, she probably thinks no one will believe her." I said "In most circumstances she'd probably be right. Who rapes someone in six inches of snow anyway?"

"Same guy you think it is?" she repeated, ignoring my rhetorical question. "You know something already?"

"Maybe." I told her "I spent most of the day looking into it. I'll fill you in when I get there. By the way, where am I going?"

Murphy gave me an address near Lake Michigan that was actually not too far from my brother Thomas' apartment. I considered having him meet me at the scene but discarded the idea almost immediately. He might be able to help with a female victim, but he also might cause other problems just by being there. I opted to take Mouse instead. His nose could be useful, and if I needed supernatural backup he's better than most people I could have picked.

A half hour later I arrived at the second scene. It looked much the same as the first, with the addition of a coroner's van. I stepped past the swath of melted snow and asphalt into the alley the cops were congregating in and looked around for Murphy and Rawlins. I spotted them not far away talking to a rather pretty but disheveled looking young woman that I assumed to be the would be victim. She was blonde and dressed in the uniform of one of those restaurants that serves mediocre food at outrageous prices because you're paying for the privilege of staring at the gorgeous wait staff. I also noticed a faint trace of magical power on her. A minor practitioner. Probably not strong enough to do anything significant with magic, but enough that she was probably aware the supernatural is really out there.

"Hey, Murph." I called out. "What do we have this time?"

"Dresden." she replied. "Glad you could make it a little faster this time around. We have one victim that looks just like the first guy, and another who was decapitated at a dead sprint as far as we can tell."

"Decapitated?" I said with some surprise "Isn't there usually more blood when that happens? I didn't see any."

"That's the thing, Harry." Murphy said "The killing blow seems to have cauterized the wound instantly, which the coroner said should be impossible unless it was done with something incredibly hot. Melt through steel hot, in fact."

"So, he has a light saber?" I asked semi-seriously.

"Funny, Dresden." Murphy replied in a voice that indicated she thought it was anything but. "Do you need to see the body?"

"Not really." I said "If the other one looks just like the guy from earlier it was most likely the same guy. Did the witness say anything about a second guy?"

"You know you could just ask me directly." the blonde girl spoke up "I'm sitting right here, after all. And no, it was just one guy. Who the hell are you anyway? You don't look like a cop."

"Oh, right." I said with some chagrin. "I'm Harry Dresden. I'm a wizard. And you are?"

The girl looked at me strangely for a second before shrugging it off. "Jessica Cady"

"Okay, Ms. Cady, can you tell me what happened here?" I said, glancing at Murphy "The _whole_ story?"

"Well, I was coming home from work." she began "I worked the lunch shift today, which I don't normally do. I was just getting out of my car when the bigger guy just grabbed me and drug me into the alley next to my apartment building. He smelled like he'd been drinking all day. Then the little guy came up and started pawing at my tits and crotch. The big guy threw me to the ground and the little guy jumped on top of me and started trying to rip my uniform off. I probably don't need to explain their intentions, do I?"

"No," I said with a slight wince, "seems pretty obvious what they wanted. What happened after that?"

"I started screaming." Jessica responded matter-of-factly "Not much chance that anyone would help me in this neighborhood, but worth a shot. Surprisingly, someone actually heard me and decided to step in."

"What did he look like?" Murphy interjected

"Kinda tall, but not as tall as him" she said, indicating me with a nod "Scruffy looking, leather jacket, long dirty blonde hair. Maybe in his thirties, but looked older."

"What did the scruffy blonde guy do?" I asked

"He insulted the assholes and pissed off the bigger guy. I thought he was about to get his ass kicked, but he dodged everything the guy did and hit him with a big chain. I didn't actually see much of the fight, I was kind of busy trying to get the little guy off me, but I heard it. Then the scruffy guy pulled the other guy off me and started beating his ass. Then it got weird."

"How did it get weird?" I asked "I'm not going to think you're crazy. Sergeant Murphy here calls me in on cases that are a little too weird for normal cops. I've seen a lot of weird stuff."

"Okay." she said somewhat skeptically "The bigger guy got back up and stabbed the blonde guy in the back. Except he didn't react to being stabbed like most people do. He just stiffened up and..." she trailed off.

"And?" I prompted

"And then he, um, caught on fire." she said in a suddenly timid voice "It looked like his skin just melted off and he turned into a skeleton. On fire. In a leather jacket."

I had more or less expected that description after what Bob had told me, but Murphy looked a little taken aback. I caught her eye and gave her a subtle nod to confirm that she was probably telling the truth.

"Okay, what happened then?" I asked Jessica

"The burning skull guy got up and said some stuff to the bigger guy I didn't quite catch and picked him up by the neck. With one hand." she continued "Then they got into some kind of...staring contest...and the guy starts screaming bloody murder. Then hs just drops the guy like a sack of potatoes and turns to the little guy. The little guy is panicking at this point and pointing a gun at the skull guy. He wanted to know what he did to his buddy and the skull guy said something like 'I gave him what he deserved. All the pain he caused I gave back to him'. But his voice was really creepy sounding. Like, it was echo-y sounding, but not echoing if that makes sense?"

I glanced at Murphy and by the look on her face I guessed she hadn't heard this part yet.

"Then the little guy shot the skull guy like five or six times, but it didn't seem to faze him at all. Then he took off running down the alley. The skull guy just looked at him for a second and pulled out a chain and like, threw it down the alley but he was still holding on to one end. Oh, and the chain was on fire too. It was weird. Almost like the chain got longer when he whipped it at him, but that's impossible, right? Anyway, the chain hit the little guy in the neck and just took his head clean off. But there was no blood, like, at all."

"Thanks for being honest with me, Jessica." I told her

She looked a little stunned at that "You mean you actually _believe_ me?" she said.

"Of course." I replied "I told you I've seen some weird stuff. This is a little weirder than most, but I have no reason to believe you're making it up. Especially when the physical evidence backs up your story. Look around. Do you see any snow anywhere near where all the fiery stuff happened? That tells me that something really was very hot nearby, but there isn't any sign of a fire. And the second guy's neck was cauterized, which means what killed him was very hot. It all checks out as far as I'm concerned. Anything else you can tell us?"

"Just one thing." she said "I asked him who he was and he said...'People long since dust called me Ghost Rider'. Does that help?"

"It does, actually." I said "Thank you."

At that the EMTs came over to finish examining her to ensure she wasn't hurt. I took a few steps away and let out a long sigh.

"Shit." I said out loud "I was actually kind of hoping I _wouldn't_ hear that."

Murphy sauntered over to stand next to me with a speculative look.

"When did you get so good at interviewing witnesses?" she said "Usually you just stand back and look intimidating while I do the talking."

"She wasn't going to give you the real story, Murph." I answered "If she was, you'd have already had it. She didn't think you'd believe her, so she gave you a different account so she wouldn't get sent to a psych ward. Can't say I blame her, really."

Murphy just grunted.

"Also, she's a minor practitioner. I felt it on her when I first walked up. Probably familiar with the Paranet and aware of wizards. Telling her what I was actually put her at ease that I'd believe her."

"She's a wizard?" Murph asked. "But she called 911 on a cell phone after the attack."

"No, not a wizard. Probably just has some random minor talent for something. Minor practitioners don't mess with technology like a full wizard, remember?"

Murphy shrugged and accepted the explanation at face value. She knew better than to tell me my job, just like I knew better than to tell her hers.

"So," Murphy said "I got the sense that you know something about what she described. Spill it." I had to think real hard about how much I was going to tell Murphy. Years ago she made me promise not to keep her in the dark about what's going on, and for the most part I had kept that promise. This one, however, might even be beyond me if Bob's information was accurate. I decided to let Murphy know most of what I knew.

"If my information is accurate, that young lady just described a being that has been sighted multiple times going back as far as at least the Revolutionary War." I told her "My best guess is that it inhabits a host and spends its time punishing people who have harmed innocents. And it seems to have a way of knowing who is guilty with uncanny accuracy. Sort of like a demonic Santa Claus."

"Inhabits a host?" Murphy mused "Is it a Denarian?"

"I'm not sure." I told her "But I don't think it's very likely. Denarians are pretty much universally evil. Punishing people who harm innocents doesn't sound like their M.O. I think he's something else entirely. And powerful. I have serious doubts about my ability to take this thing on without getting creamed."

"That's never stopped you before." Murph noted.

"No" I said "And it isn't going to stop me this time. I was just going to try and convince it to stop, or at least leave Chicago. But now that it's actually killed, that changes things."

"You know I'm going to be with you, right?" Murphy told me. "No way you're fighting this thing alone."

"I was hoping you'd say that, actually." I told her "I won't lie and say I'm not worried about your safety, but I know you'd go after it on your own. I'm planning on calling in as much backup as I can on this one."

Murphy raised an eyebrow at that.

"That's not like you, Dresden." she said "Usually you try to go all lone wolf and save the day all by your lonesome."

"I'm gambling here, Murph." I replied. "I'm only asking people to come along that haven't harmed any innocents. If they aren't someone that this Ghost Rider would normally target, I'm hoping he won't react with lethal force in a confrontation. As weird as it sounds, I get the impression that he's on the 'good guy' side of the supernatural spectrum."

"Good guy?" Murphy scoffed "He just _decapitated someone in an alley_ , and you're calling him a good guy?!"

"The supernatural operates on different rules, Murph." I said "By boogeyman standards, he _is_ on the lighter side of things. If he were evil, he'd be burning anyone and everyone. But he's restricting himself to only people who have caused a lot of suffering. Strikes me as more of a vigilante than anything. Run these two guys' records and I'm betting you'll come back with some pretty awful shit."

"Already did." she shot back "Carl Toholski and Vincent DeBurg. Toholski made a living as muscle for one of Marcone's rivals until that rival disappeared. DeBurg was a registered sex offender who spent twelve years in prison for raping a thirteen year old girl. He was just released in November. They were horrible human beings, but that doesn't mean this Ghost Rider has the right to just kill them."

"I agree, Murph." I said "But I'm just saying his perspective is probably very different. I already mentioned that he seems to know everything someone has done in their life. Maybe DeBurg did something we don't know about that he felt justified death. Either way, standing here arguing the semantics of his moral compass isn't getting us any closer to finding him."

"True." she grudgingly agreed. "What are the chances he'll come quietly?"

"Pretty much nil." I said "I'm guessing he doesn't respect mortal laws much, if at all. We might be able to talk to his host though. From Ms. Cady's description, it sounds like the Rider only comes out when he is prompted to by something. And the host was willing to put himself in harm's way to help her without calling on the Rider until he needed to, so he's probably a decent enough guy. On that note, I'm going to follow the trail of melted asphalt as far as it goes and see if it leads me anywhere."

"Good call." Murphy said "On both trying to talk to the host and tracking the asphalt trail. I need to wrap up here. Get in touch if you find anything relevant. But if you find him, don't fight him without backup."

"I'll try not to." I replied "But if he doesn't give me a choice I have Mouse with me in the car."

I got back to the car where Mouse was waiting patiently and started following the asphalt trail as far as it went. To my surprise and dismay, the trail was leading me in the direction of my own office. Exactly what I didn't want. The trail stopped about fifteen blocks from the building my office was in, so I decided to stop by there and grab the spare gun I kept in the desk. I had left my normal revolver at home, as I didn't think it wise to be packing an unregistered firearm at a crime scene crawling with cops.

As I pulled up to my normal parking space I noticed a rather nice custom motorcycle parked across the street with no snow on it at all. I climbed out of the car with some trepidation and let Mouse out of the backseat. I didn't see anyone around, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.

When I reached the floor my office was on I froze at the end of the hall. There was a tall, scruffy blonde guy in a leather jacket leaning against the wall across from my door. He spotted me at the same time and stood up straight.

"Mr. Dresden?" he said

"That's me." I answered "Who wants to know?"

"My name is Johnny Blaze." scruffy guy replied "I understand you specialize in finding lost things?"

"That's correct." I said cautiously. I was pretty damn sure this guy had been described to me less than fifteen minutes ago, so I was trying not to let him see how nervous I was. I glanced down at Mouse. He was more alert than normal, but not acting like this guy was a threat, so I relaxed a little.

"Excellent." the scruffy guy – Johnny said. "I'd like to hire you to find and retrieve something for me."

"Okay..." I said, more than a little surprised "What is it you'd like me to find?"

Johnny gave me a long, serious look before responding. Almost like he was judging my abilities just by looking at me.

"I would like you to find my soul and return it to me." Johnny finally said.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey guys.

Hate to say it, but I'm killing this one. I wrote myself into a corner and can't figure out how to get myself out of it, in spite of trying.

Between my ridiculous work schedule and my father's illness and subsequent passing I haven't felt much like writing lately. And when I decided to get back on the horse I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to resolve where I left off without creating further problems down the line.

But fear not. I'm not abandoning this idea, just starting over at a different point in Harry's timeline.

I will be starting up a new story with the same basic premise and plot. I'm just going about it a different way.

The new story will be simply titled _Ghost Rider._ Which I picked both for its simplicity and the fact that it fits the Dresden Files naming convention.


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